


she said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

by waterfront



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Blood, F/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfront/pseuds/waterfront
Summary: No one really sleeps any more in the compound in Texas. Some wander, some fight their nightmares, but everyone has their secrets. Seth just isn't sure he can ignore his any longer.(Sequel-ish to metronome)Based on the ask: Kate gets hurt.





	she said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

_ I said I saw you in the water (do I make you cringe?) _

_ \- _ _ _ Cringe, Matt Maeson _ _

* * *

It was not unexpected to hear various amounts of grunting coming from what had once been one of Malvado’s storage rooms. In fact, it was downright normal — all things considered.

After the Queen of Hell had nearly come to town, it had become quite clear that peace was a frail thing and in the middle of a culebra civil war, personal fortification had become as nearly as important as barbed wire, electric fences and UV floodlights. Without much prompting, a spare wine cellar had quickly been outfitted with three weight machines, four treadmills, some free weights, and a floor mat for sparring. Practice weapons of all shapes and sizes were mounted against the wall. Richie found a scythe when the construction was done, swung it a few times, and with a satisfied grin, just said, “nice.” 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Kate Fuller — as she lived and breathed — took to the two-handed sword in an instant. When her brother stopped by, it was quite a thing to witness the two Fuller siblings clash brilliantly, two steel blades clanging against a heavy long sword. 

What was, in fact, strange to hear was various amounts of grunting coming from the gym at two-thirty in the morning.

Seth paused, his fingers hanging against the rough stone passageway between rooms. Most of Malvado’s underground maze had been brought into the 21st century, the entire project mostly overseen by Richard. The man had a surprising knack for beefing up positive _ feng shui; _ there was significant better lighting, no overbearing roots, and a comforting lack of torture devices. Seth wouldn’t have called it home, but it felt something like security.

He continued to listen intently, with dreams and memories of a church and rivers of blood and ancient gates that took and gave things all in the same breath slightly subsiding for once. (The nightly wandering of the compound was really nothing new.)

He recognized grunts of exertion, of frustration, of working through a knot so deep in your gut it would be hours before you could work it up through to your arms and legs to get it out in front of a punching bag.

It was a sensation he knew all too well.

Seth kept walking but instead of making a left up to the next level, he went right, back to what Scott affectionately termed, “the battle dome”.

The wide gym was mostly dark, the hanging lights above the weights still out of commission. The only patch of light fell down onto the training mat, to a slim figure bashing her fists against the pressure-point dummy. Her hair was up in short ponytail, the last of Amaru’s red still hanging on like a fist. She seemed better after her self-inflicted exorcism — the night she took a pair of scissors to her crimsons tresses and cut them short. 

One more step in her recovery, he supposed. 

Every inch of her pale skin glistened in the stark light— including over her bare stomach. Her dark purple sports bra matched her leggings, that curled around her hips and thighs, her sneakers bouncing — all gifts from Richie as a thanks for covering several waitressing shifts at JackKnife Jeds. 

When Richard had seen her hair that follow morning, he simply took her by the hand, looked her in the eye, and said: “this too shall pass.” Seth nearly scoffed, but by Kate’s suddenly wet eyes, he knew it had been much better than his own, “it’s good.”

Seth wandered into the room, and saw her hands were wrapped in the plastic tape. Just as he had shown her about a week ago after a boxing session with the culebra queen had left her knuckles bloody and raw.

Kate’s eyes were fixated on the pads in front of her. Her body dipped and swayed, but her eyes were stationary, seeing through to what Seth could only imagine was the well of her rage and she drank from it like smoke through a furnace.

One tap up, one tap across, one tap down, across, up, across, down, across—

“Hey, Kate—,”

Sweat poured down her temples, down her throat, down her spine.

She cracked the center, again the center, the center, the center — blood pooled against the white tape on her knuckles— her elbows drew back and became blurs with each righteous land of her fists — she seemed to vibrate, every muscle within her body tense, flexed— the crash of her knuckles against the plastic pad like the crack of a whip— 

“Kate!”

He dropped a hand onto her shoulder — she whipped around and punched him in the mouth. He stumbled back and she gasped.

“Oh God! Seth! I’m so sorry!”

The skin on his bottom lip was torn, blood steadily oozing from the open cut. He smeared it away on his thumb. It stung, but he chuckled anyways. “Good right hook, Fuller. I probably deserved that.”

She made a face and batted his hand away from the cut to get a better look. Her dainty fingers took hold of his chin and the back of his neck, green eyes inspecting diligently. He couldn’t help but realize with a sinking feeling that the terrified face of girl trying desperately to unite her family across the Mexican border was officially and unequivocally gone. Her cheekbones had grown a new edge. Steeled. 

Trial by fire.

Seth put a hand on her shoulder, thumb resting on her collarbone and fingers dipping over her back, and tried smiling again through his already-swollen lip.

“Kate,” he said as solemnly as he could. “I’m fine. Seriously. Shoulda known better than to sneak up like that.”

Kate was still frowning when she stepped back and began to unwind the tape around her wrists. She shook her head dismissively. “Sorry. I don’t know what got into me."

He watched her unwind. Watched the tape easily slide away, slick with patches of blood. Her knuckles were bruised, swollen purple, and cracked. She flexed her fists, turning them this way and that. An inch beneath below her palm was the jagged scar from Amaru’s blade. 

His eyes fell over to its twin on her other wrist. 

“I think we both know that’s not true,” he murmured. 

She looked at him with a flash of anger, _ how dare you bring her up _, but then she dropped her gaze, biting the insides of her cheeks. She swallowed. Her voice was soft, cowed, when she spoke. “Maybe not.”

“You should ice that.”

Kate paused, before tossing the goopy bandages on the mat. She ran an absent thumb over her raised knuckles on her left hand, and then returned his gaze. 

In the cave, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. He had never been good with words and they both knew there was nothing he could say to pull her away from the mouth of hell. Nothing he could do. Not when she set her mouth and looked at him in a way that filled him with hope and broke his heart all at once.

Kate extended her injured hand towards him and he took it under his own.

A year ago, she would have reacted, _ he knew that _, she would have jumped back, jerking an inch away. But now — she let him take her space, fill her up. She smelled like sweat, copper, and coconut flower, or whatever random body wash he picked up for her in a trek into town. 

“Nothing’s broken,” Seth said matter-of-fact-ly. Her palm was slick and warm beneath his fingertips. She watched him with unreadable eyes as he mulled over her other set of knuckles. “But they’re gonna hurt like a bitch. And put something on ‘em, to keep the dirt off. But wash it off first, okay?” 

She chuckled, making a fist to let him judge the depth of the cuts. “What kind of major bummer would it be if I died from infection from a stupid little cut?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

Seth glared at her like he meant it. His fingers had stopped looking. The breath in her chest wavered as if she was swallowing a hot cup of coffee all at once.

“Sorry.” She pulled back her hand. “Not the time for morbid jokes.” 

“Would you stop that?” It was a physical ache that arched inside of him every time it seemed she felt like she owed him something. He closed his eyes, shaking his head momentarily to loosen the grip of bloody nightmares still clinging to the darkness in his thoughts. “Don’t . . . don’t apologize. Please.” 

When he opened his eyes, he found her staring at him in a way that made him feel like he was being pulled through a wormhole. Amaru was long gone from her, but her eyes — he was looking into an ancient green with endless secrets and shadows too deep for anyone to fill. So many questions, and not enough time existed or had ever existed to answer her.

She didn’t want to talk about it, at least with him. That much was obvious. She was keeping her time possessed a secret, locked behind those light eyes, behind soft lips pulled too often into a hard line. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He never did with Kate. 

“Why are you awake?” She went with the safe question. 

“Can’t sleep.” 

“Seems like that’s been going around lately.” Kate looked out towards the door hidden in shadow and he wondered, _ hoped _, she was talking about the night in the kitchen. 

“I could, uh, whip up a couple of omelettes, if you’re—,” 

“No,” she said firmly. He had pushed too far, got his crowbar into too many secrets to pop open — but she bit her mouth in shame. “Sorry — I’m just not hungry. But walk with me?” 

He blinked at her, as though she had asked to lasso down the moon. 

Her cheeks were still flushed and he knew her knuckles must be throbbing, but her question was so resolute, so stern, it was as though she thought if she was as direct as possible, he couldn’t turn her down. 

Seth only nodded. 

There was a hint of a smile as she bent down to pick up her bandages. “Great. You can tell me where you learned to —,” 

Kate gasped and clutched at her side. She pulled her hand back and her palm was bloody.

“Whoa, whoa — what happened?” 

Seth took her shoulder and turned to her to the side. A white square medical patch was poking out over the band of her leggings and it was leaking blood.

Kate rolled her eyes, voice breathless from the sudden shock of pain. “Goddamn it. I told Richie to tighten those stitches.” 

Seth frowned. “You needed stitches? For what?”

“Just a small nick with a sword.”

“I’m gonna smack that kid.”

“Seth, stop. It wasn’t himt. But . . . c-can you . . . help me?” she asked, her voice low. He lifted his eyes from the wound on her side and met her gaze. The iron gate had lowered slightly. Something inside her was beckoning him and he couldn’t deny her. Never her. “I can’t do the stitches on my own.” 

His throat was dry. “Can you walk?” 

She took a step and grimaced. Without her prompting, he slid under her shoulder, and took her uninjured hip in his hand. Her skin was cold and sticky from sweat. He felt her stomach muscles tightened beneath his touch.

He held onto her hand across the back of his shoulders and convinced himself their interlocking fingers were for extra support. Her warm breath was on his throat, his neck. If he turned his head to look at her, his nose would brush her cheek.

He took a step, then she did, her free hand on her side to staunch the bleeding. Together they left the gym.

* * *

“Jesus, Kate, there’s gotta be like eight stitches here.”

Seth stood behind her in what had been Malvado’s private kitchen. Kate stood, bent forward, hands spread against the counter and her leggings pulled down low on her waist to let Seth have a better look. There was an open medical kit to her right, but they had yet to get into it.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think.”

Seth frowned. “You liar. I’d be crying like a baby.”

“You are so dramatic.”

He gingerly pulled at the white tape, the majority of it coming off in a slick, bloody mess. The cut wound up from her hip to to the small of her back.

“What the hell happened?” Seth knew in some part of his brain that he was fussing over her but too many times he had watched blood drain out of her and he intended for it to be a very long time before he had to do it again.

But Kate only rolled her eyes.

“Kisa finally let me use real swords with her. Guess I’m not as good as I thought.”

“Snake Queen did this?” Seth asked, eyebrows raised.

Kate nodded stiffly. “Brand new leggings. She cut right through them.”

The patch had smeared the wet blood, but from what Seth could see, it wasn’t bleeding two badly. However, two of the stitches at the base of the cut had loosened. This he could definitely handle. He got out the tweezers, and the medical pliers and went to work on the stitches.

“So, how’d this happen?”

“Kisa and I were sparring again.” She sighed. “I’ve been doing really well with the basic positions and for fun, I asked her to use real swords. I think Richie pissed her off before we started because I don’t think she was in it for the fun.”

“Well, Richard should know better now than to rile up a woman with the name Pandemonium.”

“Don’t call her that. Or Snake Queen.” Kate looked over her shoulder again, her eyes serious. Seth raised an eyebrow at her. “Her name is Kisa.”

“Since when did you buy a foam finger for the goddess of groovy dancing?” His voice lacked the malice that his brashness implied.

“Since she’s about the only person who can relate to what Amaru did to me.”

Seth paused momentarily in tightening the stitch before continuing, the back of his neck warm. He swallowed the memory of her wandering into the kitchen late at night, bleary-eyed in a too-large sweatshirt, looking for something to do to quiet her nightmares. 

“You don’t talk about that much.”

“And Kisa understands without me having to explain.”

Seth finished the last stitch and tied off the knot. “I’d like to, Kate.” His voice was low. Thoughtlessly, he rubbed his thumb over the bottom stitch. “You were after something out there tonight. Was it Amaru?”

_ Was it me? _

Here’s the thing about secrets; they made you paranoid. There were days he couldn’t look her in the eye because he knew it would give something — everything — away. She kept her secrets and he kept his and that was a way to live. You felt like you lived under a boulder that every day crushed you a little bit more, but you were living.

Kate was living too; they all seemed pretty certain of that. On the other hand, he would have done anything to see a flicker of her old spark, that oh-so-holy self-righteousness, that fearless bravado, that hooded desire —

Her nails squeaked as she pulled her fingers into a fist against the metal counter. His wide hand nearly encircled her waist. The curve of her ass rested against his hip. 

“It was them,” she said firmly. “Everyone we killed, Amaru and I. I can’t stop seeing their faces and I just want them out of my head. I want to stop feeling _so guilty_.”

“C’mon, Kate. That wasn’t you. You _gotta_ _know_ that.”

Slowly, she lifted herself up from the waist and her back bumped his chest. But neither moved. Neither stepped back or shuffled away. Seth felt his pulse quicken somewhere in his thigh and dared to put his hand around her elbow — as if to steady something tumultuous inside. 

If he dropped his chin ever so slightly, he would have rested against the curve of her neck. 

“But it felt like me.” Kate stared straight ahead, a certain tightness to her face. “If I had just died like I was supposed to, none of this would have happened.”

He hesitated, startled. 

When she came back, it was life giving him a second chance. Seth never felt like a blessed man, but the instant he saw her in that crowd, he knew this would be different. He knew _ he _ would be different.

Seth shook his head, almost laughing. In the end, he did step away. Push back against her elbows, away from her damp hair. Sleep deprivation was making him delirious, which is why he opened his mouth and said:

“Kate, I’d let the world end a hundred times before trading it for you.”

She was so still, perhaps by the small slivers of luck he still had, she didn’t hear him. 

Casually, carefully, he picked up a cotton ball, doused it in hydrogen peroxide, and went to work cleaning up her dried blood on her waist. 

Her skin prickled as the soaked cotton ball drew a slick path. It must have been cold. 

“Seth.” She still hadn’t turned around. It wasn’t a question, or even a statement. She was asking him to elaborate, to continue, to explain. To make her understand _what now?_

There was something strange about panic, how it tunneled your vision. It seemed he could only see her pale skin as through a pinprick. _ Lie _ , his brain ordered him, _ lie through your fucking teeth and let this fucking go. Live with a sour ulcer in your gut and your skin on fire every time she touches you. It’s worth it. _

He took another cotton ball and continued to clean her. 

“Seth, if you’ve got something to fucking tell me —,”

He wanted to throw it back in her face, wanted to demand answers from her just as much. _ The people I love _, that’s fucking rich. Like that didn’t leave an infested sore in his heart. Like that didn’t crack open his rib cage for sunlight to come pouring through just in time to watch her kill herself. 

She wants to know if he’s got questions? Sure, got dozens of them. Let’s start with _ do you love me because holy shit I fucking need you and I want you and I legimately didn’t know until I thought I lost you and it’s not enough and I’m never going to be enough. _

“Seth.” She was pleading. He never did well when she begged. Maybe it would be easier, saying all of this to the whirled knot of red hair, than to her face. 

“I think it started when you opened your eyes in the church. There was no more Amaru in you. The transfusion, the ritual worked — you were just lying there, pale and cold, and Scott’s praying up a storm, and I remember thinking, we need _ just one more fucking miracle _.”

And then Kate turned and his knees actually buckled for a moment. Her mouth was a single line, her hands in fists. She looked at him like she had before, back when it was just them and an infinite desert, like she couldn’t bear one more disappointment. 

“When what started?” Her eyes were so searing, he felt her physically take up room in his heart. “When _what_ started, Seth?”

This was it, kiddos, the bet for all the money. For all the gold. For Blue Agave and Heaven and Hell. For the diamonds, the rubies, the emeralds — for the fucking love of —

Maybe this time around would be different and he would vulnerable and she didn’t have to. Because, Jesus Christ, how many times can you get your wrists slit before it all becomes meaningless?

He took a deep breath and looked her squarely in the eyes. Seth then took her by the hips (she barely let him move her), and then with a touch up the side of her arm, gently threaded his fingers behind her neck and pulled them closer. 

At that she made a moan of protest, of unease, because this was different from the other night, completely wildly, maddeningly different from anything he let himself do to her in Mexico. He could feel the wisps of downy hair on her cheek beneath his lips. 

Seth leaned forward, her hands pressed into the center of his chest and fingers digging in, and kissed the shell of her ear with his words.

“The part of my life where I’m in love with you.”

And then, with a finger releasing a curl down her temple, he let her go. In the end, he did step back. 

Secrets are secrets for a reason. Most notably because they have the power to utterly and inconsequentially destroy everything in their path. 

“Were you just going to keep that from me forever?” He wasn’t sure if she was angry or hurt, but her eyes were glistening and her mouth was tight.

Swallowing a knot in his throat, he said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I’ve done the math, Kate, and we can’t.”

_ I can’t. _

It was like looking into a mirror image of her on a frozen lake and then watching the image shatter. 

She raised her head, chin balanced precariously on an invisible spike, and looked at him with the most terribly expressionless eyes. Like a vortex yanking every planet, every comet, every bit of black space into it before it explodes. 

And then she said, “Well, then, I guess it doesn’t matter that I love you too.” 

Then Kate walked out the door without a single word, her fists still clenched as though between her knuckles and her side, she was in a great deal of pain. 


End file.
